If BJM leader Anton Newcombe was a funny guy (or at least a little less whacked) in real life, he’d probably be considered the Riddler of album titles made from portmanteaux and other groan-eliciting linguistics jokes. His out-of-control druggie escapades in the Dig! movie, in which he starred with “hopeless sellouts” Dandy Warhols, made me think of self-deconstructed dudes I’ve known in my life, guys who believe their ability to accomplish cool (if derivative) things on the fly makes them geniuses whose weaknesses are no match for their promises. So where are we now? Well, I don’t know; Matt Hollywood is still putting up with it all, so he’s here, as is one of the Spacemen 3 guys, in other words the revolving door of Newcombe’s indie cabal is still greased. The LP in question has some absolutely awful flute solos and sitar runs tossed over some skronk-n-psychedelic hallucinations (mainly instrumental) that would have been good had they not been ruined with the flute and random Middle Eastern flourishes — are you making a statement about Pakistan, Anton, or did you go to the source to buy your last bag? Al Jourgensen needs to save this guy from himself, you know, drag him into the quasi-Ministry fold with Gibby Haynes and Jello Biafra and all those super-punks before no one gives a rat’s ass anymore. B—Eric W. Saeger